


5 Times Christian Kane Seriously Fucked Up (And 1 Time He Didn't)

by Whreflections



Category: Kane (Band), Leverage RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back on it now, Chris can see every chance he's had so far to do this right, and he's gotta hope that now that he can see it, he'll be able to take one more chance and make things right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Christian Kane Seriously Fucked Up (And 1 Time He Didn't)

The first time is London, and maybe it’s the most important because even if some of the others were worse, if he hadn’t fucked up that  _first_  time, none of the rest would’ve followed.   
  
It’s after a show and it’s late, maybe 3:30 in the morning, and they’re sitting on the bed, bottle of Jack wedged between their legs. It’s almost gone and it’s definitely not the first drinks they’ve had tonight, and at that point they’re pretty fucking trashed. Chris has Steve’s guitar in his lap and strumming through something new that he probably won’t remember in the morning, which is a damn shame because he kind of likes it. There’s this little riff that goes in after the Bm, and it  _fits_  and he can just imagine Steve playing it so much better than he is. Of course, asking him right now just wouldn’t work because he’s too drunk to do it well himself much less tell Steve what he’s trying to pull off.   
  
Instead, he puts down the guitar and shifts over, leaning into Steve’s side.   
  
“Man, I hope I remember that one tomorrow.”   
  
Steve laughs, warm and drunk, and he nudges against him with his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you won’t.”   
  
He laughs with him, pokes Steve in the ribs and grins when he yelps. “Haven’t seen you this trashed since…since, uh…”  
  
“Don’t think any harder, you’ll break it.” He’s smiling, looking down with his hair just a little in his eyes and Chris is really fucking drunk, because he’s suddenly noticing things like the way they’re pressed  _too_  close together with just the bottle between them, how hot Steve’s skin is against his arm where they’ve both pushed up their sleeves.   
  
He shifts a little, clumsy, and though he means to push Steve’s hair back and let his hand fall on his shoulder it falls on his chest afterward instead and he leaves it there, feeling his heartbeat under his palm.   
  
“Chris?” There’s about as much anxiety in there as someone can manage while drunk and he takes his eyes off his hand and meets those impossibly blue ones. “What’re you-“  
  
“Hair was in your eyes.” Which doesn’t explain why he doesn’t want to move his hand, why Steve’s heart’s beating faster and he’s closer and Steve’s eyes are pretty much locked with his and he can taste his breath on the air between them, all whiskey and  _Steve_ , and Steve’s hair is just too goddamn pretty for a man and….  
  
And he’s trying to think too much too fast for someone who’s  _had_  too much. So he moves his hand, clumsily brushes his hair back just a little farther. “Your hair’s fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?”   
  
“Chris?” And yeah, now he definitely sounds worried but Chris isn’t really listening, and he turns enough to free his other arm, hand coming up to tangle in Steve’s hair and before he can even think about it he’s closing the distance and kissing him, holding Steve’s face in his hands.   
  
He had no idea he was actually gonna do it, really, so  _all_  of it’s a surprise. Maybe the most surprising part of all is what a _good_  surprise it is. Steve practically melts against him, a small strangled noise rising from his throat and he opens his mouth to Chris just like that, jaw slack but tongue working tentatively once Chris makes the first move. He tastes like Jack, sure, but there’s something  _more_  and he chases that, tightening his grip and exploring his mouth with hungry fascination.   
  
He can’t ever remember a kiss that’s felt this good, and he realizes that at the  _exact_  second that he realizes this is Steve. _Steve_ , his best friend, and oh my  _God_  what the hell is he doing? He jerks back then, breathing heavy, and even though his mind tries to tell him the noise Steve makes is because he wants Chris’ mouth back on his, he knows his head’s addled and it just can’t be trusted. And besides, Steve is drunk, too.   
  
He pushes away from him gently, eyes cutting down to the blankets, “C’mon. M’ sleepy.”   
  
They sleep there in the same bed like they’ve done a hundred times, but even though he’s drunk he can tell something’s _wrong_  now, and when he thinks about it later he can tell that the line of Steve’s spine when he laid down with his back to him was way to fucking tense, especially for a drunk.   
  
The next morning he tells Steve how sorry he is, that he was drunk and horny and  _wow_ , that’s a story they can tell, huh? Steve laughs, tight, and tells him it’s fine, but he’s packing his guitar up as he does it and Chris can’t see his face. If he had, he’d like to think he’d have gotten a clue. Even though he knows that probably isn’t true. He’s too much of an idiot for that.   
  
He picks up a girl from the front row the next night, tells Steve he’ll need the room for awhile. He fucks her twice before she leaves, and he hates himself on two accounts. 1, he’s usually more of a gentlemen than that, at least letting ‘em stay the night. 2, when he comes back, Steve’s eyes are bloodshot and he looks a little broken, and he won’t tell him why.   
  
Somewhere, deep down, he knew even then. He knew, and he was afraid, and he didn’t push too hard. He just passed Steve a beer and turned out his light, fell asleep to the light of the TV flickering through late night infomercials. Looking back, he’s pretty sure Steve didn’t sleep at all.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
The second time is sort of Steve’s fault. Sort of. But if he’s blaming himself for all of it, he might as well blame himself for _all_  of it, because seriously, he deserves it.   
  
They’re bowling that time and there’s this girl, and even though she didn’t come with either of them, her date lost her attention a couple hours ago. She’s been with them since then, and though they have this open policy about being alright with whoever a girl chooses and there’s never any real jealousy or bickering over it, this girl just won’t choose.   
  
It’s clear she wants them, yeah, but she’s not making up her mind, just keeps going back and forth and playing middle ground, and Christian just doesn’t know what to do with her.   
  
Until Steve drags him outside for a cigarette and they’re smoking up against the building, standing close in the cold, and Steve just comes out and says it.   
  
“We could take her back to the room together.”   
  
He chokes a little on the smoke, ash spilling over his fingers and he coughs to sort of cover it up, kicking his boot against some salt on the sidewalk. “You…you’re serious?”   
  
Steve shrugs, mumbling around his cigarette. “Yeah, why not? I mean, she seems game, and we’ve shared pretty much everything else.”   
  
That much was definitely true, yeah, they had. And besides, she was hot, she wanted them, only seemed fair to give each other fair chance and…yeah, ok. Ok, when he looked at it that way, it made sense. Of course, the image that came to mind right off the bat was her underneath Steve, muscles in his back flexing as he fucked her, and he jerked at the thought, dropping what was left of his cigarette and kicking it out on the pavement. He’d slid a hand into his pocket, tried to readjust himself without Steve seeing because he’d just gotten hard thinking about Steve’s goddamn back, and  _that_  just wasn’t right.   
  
Steve was right, she was game, and they took her back to the room within the hour, and it wasn’t five minutes before Chris realized he was in over his head. They held her between them as they stripped her and themselves, and though they pushed her back and forth to trade kisses it wasn’t long before Chris realized he was licking the taste of Steve out of her mouth, grinding against her from behind and moaning and wanting more of something that wasn’t hers to give.   
  
He’d fucked her first from behind, bent over on her knees on the bed, her mouth on Steve’s cock. He’d looked up, seen the look in Steve’s eyes as he came and the fact that those eyes weren’t on her mouth but on  _his_  chest, and that had been enough. He’d gripped her hip hard, thrust twice more and come with a low groan, his body shaking like it hadn’t since he was 17. Steve’s eyes were fucking burning him, and once he felt like he could move his arms and legs again he’d dragged himself up the bed and kissed him senseless, barely conscious of the way Steve gripped at him and the girl melded against them both, enjoying the show.   
  
Everything was a bit of haze after that. They’d sort of peeled away from each other, and Steve had fucked her, but Chris had stayed behind him, trading kisses and rubbing up against him like a fucking animal in heat and he’d gotten off harder than he had any right to be able to after what he’d felt earlier that night.   
  
She’d fallen asleep between them, but his arm had been slung all the way across her, his hand resting against Steve’s abs. He didn’t even remember her name, but he hadn’t been drunk. He could see the way Steve’s eyelashes had fluttered as he’d fallen asleep, and he could remember the way he’d been sure for a minute Steve had breathed his name the second time he’d come, while he was  _inside_  her, and how fucked up was that?   
  
The next morning, he’d left before Steve was awake, gone to the airport and gotten his flight back to Oklahoma for Christmas bumped up because no one wanted to leave at 4 in the fucking morning.   
  
It had been the 17th, and he hadn’t called Steve until the 24th. He was in California by then, and even though there was laughter in the background he sounded raw and out of place, and Chris had had the fucking nerve to tell him to go have some eggnog and enjoy himself.   
  
For the first time ever since they’d known each other Steve didn’t call him at 6 Christmas morning to try and make him get up, and sure, that had scared him. But it hadn’t scared him enough.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
By the third time, he really should have been realizing that they needed to do some of this shit while they were  _sober_ , because drunk just added elements to it that gave him too convenient of an out.   
  
That time, Steve was desperate. They hadn’t talked about  _it_ , ever, whatever this thing between them was, but they were drunk and they’d been hanging out with Jared and Jensen all night playing pool, and when they slipped into the guest room they were sharing at Jared’s house Steve had shoved him up against the door, pupils blown, already almost panting.   
  
He’d dropped to his knees right then, looked up at him like he was fucking begging, his hands clenching on faded denim. He hadn’t said anything more than “Can I?”, and Chris’ tongue felt too thick for everything he wanted to say. Steve’s hands were fucking shaking undoing his belt, and as much of an Oklahoma boy as he was even he wasn’t crazy enough to think they didn’t need to  _talk_  about this but that brought him right back to being scared of  _this_  and his mind was a goddamn jumble anyway.   
  
So instead of saying anything, he let his hand drop to thread through Steve’s hair, and he stood there and let Steve give him the best blowjob of his life. Steve had moaned around him like he was the best thing he’d ever tasted, hands kneading at his thighs like a fuckin’ cat, and when Chris had come he’d swallowed every bit of it, still moaning a little as he pulled back to nuzzle against the soft crease just above his thigh, palms fitting hot over his hipbones.   
  
He’d stood up, and Chris had reached for his belt to pull his jeans closed, reached for Steve’s with the other hand to pull his down. Steve had sidestepped him, refusing to look him in the eye now that it was over.   
  
“It’s ok. You don’t…you don’t have to. You don’t owe me.” It was slurred with the alcohol, and Chris brain was a little fuzzy from alcohol  _and_  sex, and it was a minute before he realized that Steve was pushing past him and heading out the door.   
  
By the time he worked out that he seriously needed to go after him, Steve was out the front door too, and he was out of it enough to just let him go.   
  
The next morning he’d looked like he’d been run over by a fucking truck, and Jensen had even said, “I think you need to talk to Steve, man. He’s not lookin’ so good.”   
  
Yeah, maybe. But he could sort of get away with telling himself Steve was just hungover, so he did. And instead of really worrying, he only sort of worried.   
  
“Hey, man, you ok?”   
  
“Yeah, Chris. I’m fine. Just drink your coffee.”   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
After all that, he takes a break in being epically stupid and does something that’s only slightly stupid, something he thinks is a good idea at the time.   
  
It’s after a Kane show just a few days later, Dante’s, and Steve’s been watching him all night and what happened last Friday in Vancouver is still running through his head, and he pushes Steve up against the wall and kisses him before he can say anything.   
  
Steve responds quick, hands coming up to grip at his sleeves, and they’re rubbing against each other and hardly taking a breath and it’s so fucking good. He barely manages to get Steve’s jeans open and his hand around him before he comes, whimpering, his head knocking back against the wall. He’s not too far behind him and he finishes himself off quick, his head resting in the hollow of Steve’s throat, panting against his skin.   
  
It would have been a good idea, if he’d just been a little less of a chicken shit about  _owning up to it_. As it was, he kissed the corner of his lips and pulled back, tucking himself back into his pants and turning around to wipe his hand off with a Kleenex before he started packing away their guitars. He’d started talking about something else,  _anything_  else.   
  
For the first time, Steve had almost pushed him.   
  
“Chris? What…what’re we doing?”   
  
Of course, being the asshole he can be sometimes, he hadn’t risen to the bait. “I dunno, think I’d like to just head back to the room, you know? Get some writing done tomorrow, maybe even tonight.”   
  
He’d heard Steve freeze, and for a minute he’d been afraid Steve was  _really_  gonna push him to talk about it. Honestly, he probably should have. But Steve didn’t, and Chris let it go, and he thought that was for the best.   
  
After that night, it sort of became a habit. Whether he’d admit it or not he loved the feel of Steve’s body against his, the way he tasted, the way his muscles moved under his skin. Every last fucking thing that he’d thought he’d never noticed about him but really he’d been filing away somewhere, ready to assault him all at once. The way Steve played guitar, fingers flying smooth over the strings, the way his eyes sparkled under the too bright lights, the way he laughed. And the first thing he’d let himself notice: the way his hair fell over his eyes sometimes that was somehow just unspeakably sexy.   
  
So it was habit and it was incredible, and he’d been stupid enough to think at the time that it was enough. There were moments he should’ve known better, tons of them, like the time they’d been in the cab of his truck and he’d had Steve pushed back against the seat, straddling him and jacking him slow and tight. He’d nuzzled into his neck, humming low in his ear, and Steve came harder than Chris had ever managed to get him off before, literally fucking shaking in his arms quite awhile afterward.   
  
It wasn’t until then that he’d realized it’d actually been a song he’d been absently humming. More Than I Deserve, and ok, maybe they  _seriously_  needed to talk. He’d licked his lips, kept his head buried against Steve’s neck for another minute before he kissed his jawline, soft and uncertain.   
  
“Steve…”  
  
“Yeah. We can go. Can you drive?”   
  
Well, that would be easier than talking. So he did.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
The fourth big one, that was more something he  _didn’t_  do than something he did, but it was still a situation he fucked up spectacularly. They were up in Vancouver visiting Jensen and Jared, and Sunday afternoon before they were gonna leave the boys sat them down told them they were together now.   
  
As in seriously  _together_ , and for a minute he was floored because they were  _both_  Texas boys and he knew for a fact Jensen absolutely wasn’t gay. But Jen could always read his mind, and he pulled Chris out on the back porch for a smoke and told him it wasn’t the guy thing, it was a  _Jared_  thing, and  _that_  Chris had been able to understand. He hadn’t said that, exactly, just told Jensen that of course it was fine, and no he didn’t have a problem with it and  _hell_  yes they were still best friends.   
  
When they went back inside, Steve was looking at him with all the intensity of a dog on the scent of a rabbit, and the hope in his eyes was stark and blinding. A few words from him then could’ve fixed everything. He could’ve spoken up, told Jensen and Jared that yeah, they had something to tell them too. Whether they actually had anything worked out at that point wouldn’t have mattered. He could’ve said something, taken that perfect opportunity and it would’ve made Steve so fucking happy.   
  
But apparently, being Christian Kane, he can’t ever be that smart. No, he went in the kitchen and got them all a beer, and when he came back and sat down at Steve’s side, he tried not to watch the way he’d gone all quiet, hanging his head and picking at the label and only fitting in a word or two when someone spoke directly to him.   
  
Considering all the stupid things he’d actually  _done_ , it was a little ironic that it was the one he didn’t do when he could really see Steve start to break, but that was how it was.   
  
Two nights later back in LA, he’d sucked Steve off in the truck, all awkward angles and stiff muscles and totally worth it, but Steve had been the one to not come inside, this time. He’d left and gone back to his own apartment, and that would’ve been a good time for Chris to start to panic.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
It’s the fifth one, the  _worst_  one, that he hates even thinking about. Looking at it now, he can’t believe he actually fucking did it, and he’s made a lot of mistakes so that says a lot.   
  
He’d found out about the pilot, read the script, and he’d been meaning to tell Steve for a couple weeks at least before the audition. Somehow though, it just kept not happening. It’d be right there on the tip of his tongue and he’d be about to say it, but Steve would do something like ask him how he thought that chord fit there or if it should be an Em, or he’d tune his guitar or hand him a shot or just sit there on his couch looking too fucking good for words.   
  
That last one, that was the one that was the biggest problem. It was his last night, and the flight for Chicago was 10 the next morning, and he  _had_  to tell him. He didn’t really have a choice. Except that when he came into Steve’s living room with two beers, all ready to start the conversation, he couldn’t stop staring at him. He was playing Chris’ guitar in holey jeans and an old sun faded threadbare t-shirt, and before he realized it, he was pulling the guitar out of his lap and taking its place without saying a word.   
  
They’d made out fast and rough, and he could remember the way his own moans had sounded with Steve’s hands fisted in his t-shirt, pulled it up to run calloused fingers over his ribs. He was desperate and on fire and he wanted  _more_ , and he’d been cruel enough to whisper that against Steve’s lips, grinding down into his lap as he slid his hands between Steve and the cushion to get a good grip on his ass.   
  
Steve had shuddered and moaned, rocking up against him, and his voice had been rough and needy when he told Chris that  _God_  yeah he wanted that too, but he didn’t have anything. In broken sentences he’d gotten across that he’d be willing to try without, and when he’d sucked Chris fingers into his mouth to demonstrate he’d almost been willing to agree. But this was  _Steve_ , and no matter how stupid Chris was in most respects, he’d never do anything to hurt him.   
  
Steve had smiled at that, groaned a little impatiently and promised to be prepared next time. They ended up falling asleep together on the too small couch, and it had been a miracle he was able to pull himself away from Steve the next morning without waking him. He’d wanted to write more, but when he picked up the pad of paper in the kitchen all he’d been able to say was:   
  
 _There’s a pilot in Chicago. I’ve been meaning to tell you for weeks and there hasn’t been a good time; I’m sorry. Don’t even know if I’ll get the part for sure, but I’ll call you tonight.  
  
-Chris_  
  
It was  _so_  goddamn not enough, even to his eyes, and he’d known he was gonna have to do some serious apologizing to make up for it because even the blinders he usually had on about their relationship weren’t big enough to keep him from seeing that this  _definitely_  fell under the category of hurting Steve.   
  
But, he’d said he’d fix it. He’d sat on the plane and looked out the window and watched LA disappear, and he’d told himself that soon as the audition was over, he’d call Steve and tell him that yeah, he was a bastard, but he missed Steve already.   
  
When he called, Steve wouldn’t answer.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
It’s the combination of all of that that brings him to where he is now, sitting on the floor in Jensen and Jared’s living room, drunk off of his ass and listening to Stripped Down for about the hundredth time and feeling it scrape away just a little more of his soul.   
  
It’s the second weekend in December, and Steve hasn’t talked to him since he left for Chicago, and last week Christian got the album and it’s just  _too_  much. They’re taking a break in filming and he has a few days, so he flew up here and let himself in with the key he still has, because Jen and Jared won’t mind and he wanted to be somewhere familiar. Tim and Aldis and Beth and Gina are some of the best friends he’s ever had already, and they’re all worried, he knows, but he told them he needed to get out of town and they didn’t really question.   
  
Except he knows Tim’s called Steve cause he used Chris phone once when he thought Chris was asleep on the couch, and Steve didn’t answer him either.   
  
So he’s here, sitting by the coffee table and finishing off a bottle of Jack, and he doesn’t even hear when they come in because the first thing he knows, Jensen’s kneeling on the floor in front of him, green eyes full of concern, his hands coming up to brush something that  _can’t_  be tears off his face.   
  
“Chris? What the hell’s goin’ on, man?”   
  
It’s then he finally pretty much breaks. He lets himself curl in against Jensen, head against his shoulder and Jensen’s arms wrap around his back, strong and stabilizing. Chris is talking, but yeah, he’s definitely crying now and he isn’t sure he’s making much sense.   
  
“Have you even  _listened_  to it? God, Jen, I killed him!”   
  
Jensen laughs a little at that, soft and it isn’t cruel but still,  _that_  doesn’t help. Jensen rubs his back, soothing, and his arm hooks a little better around Chris shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s get up off the floor.”   
  
Easier said than done, and in the end there’s another pair of hands there, and he realizes Jared must be helping. “I did, I did this, and he’s-“  
  
“You didn’t kill him, ok? This is fixable, and we’re gonna fix it, but first you’re gonna get in bed and sleep this shit off, and when you wake up me and you are gonna have a long talk about why it’s a bad idea to keep stuff from me, cause if I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you, I can’t help stop you before you fuck it up.”   
  
Jensen practically dumps him down on the bed, but he pulls his boots off for him and brings the covers up around him, and he doesn’t get annoyed when Chris is grabby, holding onto his arm and not letting him go.   
  
“I’m not…I fucked up, Jen, and I can’t fix it. Too late.”   
  
“No, it’s not. Just go to sleep, Chris. We’ll talk about it when you wake up.”   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
“I expect you talking the minute you finish that second cup.”   
  
Chris’s head was pounding, and he could’ve sworn the light was killing him at first, but Jensen hadn’t babied him. He’d pushed him in here to the kitchen table and shoved coffee at him, and now he was steadily staring him down, expecting answers.   
  
He took another sip from the dregs of his coffee, swirled it around and tried not to think. “I’m an idiot.”   
  
“I thought you were gonna be tellin’ me stuff I  _didn’t_  know.” He didn’t laugh, and Jensen slapped him on the shoulder, gentler than normal. “Hey. Talk to me here, man. What’s going on?”   
  
He swallowed, struggling for a place to start. “I uh…me and Steve were…” He looked up, helpless, and it scared him a little how much understanding was there in Jensen’s eyes.   
  
“Known that for awhile too, Chris.”   
  
Except that really, they weren’t, and that was exactly the problem. “We never talked about it.” Somehow, it felt good getting that off his chest, like a weight pressing on his lungs. “Not a goddamn word, but we were fucking around for the past year or so and there was stuff goin’ on between us way before that, and I knew, but I kept avoiding it and…” He scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing he could make the images go away. “I kissed him in London years ago, and I wanted him then, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. And I left for Chicago without telling him, cause I was too fucking scared that if I told him I was leaving we’d talk about things, and I didn’t think I was ready for that.”   
  
Jensen didn’t say anything, so he kept going. “I just…I just left him there, Jen, I didn’t even wake him up, and he hasn’t been answering my calls and I miss him like hell, and I just want a chance to explain, to tell him I’m sorry and I can see what a fuck up I’ve been now and…” He swallowed the last of his coffee, too cold when what he wanted was something to scald him, something to distract him. “I heard Stripped Down, and it was like a knife to the heart, you know? He’s just…the songs are some of his best but he’s so open and broken and I did that to him, and I don’t think I can make it right…”   
  
Jensen sat forward then, elbows leaning on the table. “Ok not to go all therapist on you here, but you do realize you’re still thinking about what  _you_  want, right? Cause there wasn’t once in there you said anything about asking Steve what  _he_ wanted, and isn’t that kind of what got you into this mess? I mean sure, I get that you wanna charge in and tell him everything, but hearing you’ve known about this for ages and didn’t do a damn thing about it might not make him more forgiving.”   
  
“That’s exactly my point, man. He’s not…he’s not gonna want me after this.” He felt sick saying it, and he could feel his stomach rebelling against the coffee.   
  
“Maybe not like that, maybe not right now. But I know for sure you’re still the most important person to him in the world, and I can guarantee he  _wants_  you back. I just can’t tell you in what  _way_  he’s gonna want you back at first. But in the long run, yeah, I think you two’ll be ok.”   
  
Chris wanted to think that, really he did, but the songs were playing on a loop in the back of his head, and he could see Steve the way he’d looked that day here in Vancouver, head down and looking like he’d given up all hope.   
  
“I just…I never thought. I didn’t want to think that…” What? That he  _really_  wanted Steve? That Steve might not always be waiting for him to get his head out of his ass? That things weren’t gonna go on just like they were? All of the above? He shut his eyes, rubbing his temples. “I really hurt him this time.” He hadn’t even meant to say it, and he heard the shame in his own voice when it came out as whisper.   
  
Jensen’s chair scraped against the floor, and he heard his boots on the linoleum as he went to the counter to pour them both some more coffee. “Yeah. You did. And if I wasn’t so worried about you, I’d probably knock you a good one because you deserve it. But I think you’re beating yourself up enough that I don’t need to go there.” Jensen sat the cup down lightly on the table, and he could feel warm ceramic press against his arm. “One more of these, then you’re gonna-“  
  
“No I’m not.” Cause he wasn’t ready to face Steve, not yet. Nerves aside, he’d drunk more last night than he had in years and he was still seriously feeling the effects. More sleep and a shower and some food, and then he’d be sort of presentable.   
  
“I wasn’t givin’ you a choice. I will haul your ass down to LA and drop you on his doorstep if I have to; you’re not backin’ outta this one.”   
  
At that, he almost smiled. There was definitely a reason Jensen had been his best friend practically since the day they’d met. “I’ll fly back tonight. Just…let me get over this first. I’ll go tonight.”   
  
“I’m not kidding. You’re not taking yourself; I don’t trust you.” He flipped his phone out meaningfully, the look in his eyes promising there’d be no argument. “Who’m I callin’ to give you a ride? Chad?”   
  
He shook his head, wanting someone closer than that. Chad was a great guy, if a little crazy, but he didn’t really know him all that well, and if he was gonna end up having a semi nervous breakdown or something, he’d rather it be someone that he wouldn’t mind it as much if they saw him like that.   
  
He pulled his own phone out and slid it across. “Tim. Call Tim.”   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
“Are you  _sure_  about this? I mean, you can come back home with me, think about it awhile longer if you need-“  
  
“You know if Jensen knew you were trying to talk me  _out_  of this when he called you to force me here, he’d come down and kick your ass.”   
  
Tim smiled, slid the car into park and turned in the seat to really face him. “Yeah, I know, but I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.  _You_  sure?”   
  
Absolutely, yes, but that didn’t mean he was ready to do it. He rubbed the back of his neck, nodding slow. “Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Tim, and I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?”   
  
“You sure you’re not gonna need a ride back in an hour or so?”   
  
 _God_  he hoped not. He was pretty sure about that, at least. Even pissed, Steve would have missed him. He nodded, his hand slipping to grip the door handle. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Talk to you tomorrow.”   
  
Walking up to the door took a hell of a lot longer than it should’ve, and after he rang the doorbell he found himself squinting up at the porch light, waiting to hear Steve’s footsteps down the hall. They came, finally, but it had taken awhile and they sounded uneven and he knew before Steve even opened the door that he’d been drinking.   
  
Of course, Steve opening the door seriously confirmed that. He cracked it open, leaning against the frame, and it took him a few seconds to focus on Chris and really  _realize_  it was him. He straightened a little then, holding the door just a little tighter, and for a few seconds Chris wasn’t sure how this was gonna go.   
  
“I…Christian?”   
  
His voice was whiskey rough and tired and goddamn it but there were tears pricking at the back of his eyes at the sound alone. He cleared his throat, nodded and rubbed at the back of his neck again. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”   
  
Steve stepped back then, letting him in, and he nearly went weak with relief. “C’mon in, I just…I…it’s good to see you.”   
  
“Yeah, it’s good to see you too.” So far, he was failing at this conversation. He gestured toward the living room, down the hall. “Can we talk?”   
  
“Uh…yeah. Alright.” He tried not to let the shock there hurt him because really, he’d earned it. Steve had every right to be shocked that he’d want to sit down and talk to him like a fucking normal human being after the way Chris had acted.   
  
They both sat down on the couch, and though Steve held up a half bottle of Jack in offering, he didn’t take it. Steve took another sip, though, and Chris could tell by the way he held the bottle he was just on the line of absolutely wasted. That was another sign, too, because outside of shows,  _he_  was the drunk out of the two of them.   
  
“So….” He licked his lips, let his head fall back against the couch and his eyes fall shut. “I’m a sorry son of a bitch, alright? I shoulda told you about Chicago, and I shoulda flown back when you didn’t answer my call because I missed you the minute I walked out, and-“  
  
“No, no, it’s…I mean, we’ve spent plenty of time apart before, Chris, I shouldn’t have-“  
  
“Yes you should!” His eyes snapped open then and he sat up, hands fisting loose around Steve’s shirt and pulling him just a little closer. “Don’t you let me off the hook with this, alright? You’ve done enough of that cause you’re better than me, but I’m not…” There was so much he wanted to say, so much he  _needed_  to say but he could hear Jensen’s voice nagging at him about being too controlling all over again, and he let his grip loosen all the way, letting go. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, couldn’t resist stroking down Steve’s arm with one hand. “I’m not good for you. I’m not. But you gotta tell me what you want, Steve, cause I’m listening now, ok? I should’ve told you what I wanted years ago but I was too stubborn to let myself want it, and I think I’ve kind of forfeited that right now so…your way. Just tell me what you want from me and I’ll do it. Swear to God I will.”   
  
Steve put down the bottle, and Chris felt his pulse leap as his hand wrapped around Christian’s wrist instead. “1999.”   
  
He licked his lips, more than a little puzzled. “Huh?”   
  
“That time in London, when we were drunk, I was gonna tell you the next day that I’d known I was in love with you since 1999. But then I saw that you…and I didn’t wanna tell you, cause I didn’t wanna fuck things up for us, and I just…” He shrugged, eyes flickering down. “Got harder hiding it I guess, but I thought I was just asking too much of you and-“  
  
“But you never asked me anything. Not straight out. So ask me now, Steve. Anything.” God  _please_ , anything. At least, almost anything. Anything that didn’t involve them being separated again, because the past few months had been hell.   
  
“Want you to stay.” Steve’s hand tightened on his wrist, clinging, and his other hand went to rest on Chris’ thigh, as light and tentative as he could manage with his coordination. “I want…” Their eyes met, and he could see the same look in them then he had back in London, but he could recognize everything in it now that he couldn’t then. “Chris?” it was all pleading hope, and this time, he wouldn’t let him down.   
  
“Yeah.” He nodded, moved forward to press Steve against the arm of the couch, taking his face in his hands and bringing him in close, lips almost touching. “Yes.” When he kissed him, Steve’s arms slid around his back, pulling him close, and he let himself be dragged under, losing all sense of everything but the feel of Steve’s tongue against his and the sounds he was making.   
  
Somehow he ended up on his back, Steve sprawled across his chest and when Steve’s thigh slid between his he reached down to hold his hips, keeping him right there as he rubbed up against him, panting. “God, Steve…fucking missed you…”   
  
Steve’s lips paused in working their way down his throat, rested damp against his skin. “ _Chris_.” He shifted, flexed into the hands that held his hips and reached back to push one down lower, moaning as Chris’ fingers pressed against his ass. “I’ve got…We can-“  
  
“No. Not like this.” And yeah, maybe that qualified as being pushy again, but he was tired of only getting each other off when they were too hazy to fully appreciate it. There was something to be said for drunk sex, but they’d had too much of it. He wanted to make love to Steve for real, sober and in an actual bed, and at this point he didn’t exactly care if that made him gay. It was worth it. But he hadn’t explained all that to Steve yet, and if he hadn’t been looking he could’ve missed the flash of pain that went through Steve’s eyes, the way he tensed just a little in his arms.   
  
He tangled his fingers in his hair, pulled him down and kissed him thoroughly before he spoke, still holding Steve close. “That doesn’t mean  _no_ , just means not like this. Wanna do it when you’re sober, make sure we both remember it right. Ok?”   
  
Yeah, from look in Steve’s eyes then, it was definitely more than ok. He kissed him instead of answering him and Chris was happy to go with that, moaning appreciatively when Steve sucked on his lower lip. They ended up both coming in their jeans without ever taking a damn thing off, and even though he was pretty out of it afterward Chris had the presence of mind to make Steve get off him as soon as he was sure their legs would work.   
  
Steve complained a little at first but he dragged him by the hand down to his bedroom, and he stripped and helped Steve finish with his own clothes before climbing into bed. Steve took his side of the bed out of habit, but Chris didn’t let him turn away. He tugged on his arm, pulling him flat on his back and laying his head on his chest, and when Steve’s arms came up to hold him tight he smiled.   
  
Yeah, this he’d  _absolutely_  gotten right.


End file.
